Coming With
by clair beaubien
Summary: Missing Scene to 7.03. Bobby's going into town for supplies and invites Sam along. They end up having a heart-to-heart conversation, of sorts.


When I pulled up to the cabin with Dean's refill of 'happy pills', Sam was on the porch in an old wooden straight back chair, with a book in his lap and his head resting in one hand. His eyes were half closed and he answered my, '_how you doing, kid_?' as I walked past with a barely audible, '_m'okay, thanks_.'

When I walked back out of the cabin half an hour later, with Dean properly dosed and already snoozing on the davenport, Sam was still in the chair on the porch, head still in his bandaged hand, unopened book still in his lap. The only difference was now his eyes were all the way open.

We'd been here eight days since our "Great Escape". Sam had spent most of the first four days in the bed that was just a little ways behind the davenport, trying to recover from serious head trauma, while Dean tried to be his nursemaid 24/7, even as _he_ was supposed to be trying to recover from his _own_ injuries.

The next three days, Sam spent most of his time still in bed with the pillow over his eyes to block the light, and Dean spent most of that time on the davenport, watching Mexican soap operas full of static, and keeping an eye on his brother from ten feet away.

I'd spent most of _my_ time all that time trying to get one or the other of those two idjits to accept a little help from me.

That was an uphill battle.

So, Sam was vertical again, mostly, sitting on the porch for a little fresh air, I supposed. Or to get away from Dean's constant commentary on the soaps. Or his constant checking to be sure that Sam was okay. Or some of all three. Either way, he looked four kinds of unhappy, sitting in a chair that looked four kinds of too small.

"How's the head?"

"Feels like there's a crack letting in the sunlight." He said, not lifting his head up.

"You want one of the good stuff? I got enough for both of you."

"No, Bobby. Thanks. I think I've spent enough time asleep and unconscious these past few months to last me the rest of my lifetime."

"Feel up to a drive, then? I gotta get some more supplies for the two of you. I wouldn't say 'no' to the company."

That made him lift his head, and I could see in how he squinted his eyes how bad he was feeling. I thought he'd say 'no thanks'.

"What about Dean?" he said instead. I swear, since we left Sioux Falls those boys said each other's names more often than any single other word.

"What about him? He's sleeping, you know how those pills put him out. We'll be back before he wakes up. I'm getting mighty tired of my own company."

"Okay. Yeah. Sure."

He stood up, a little shaky, and set the book on the chair. Then he followed me down the front steps and into the ancient Toyota Celica I'd boosted from my own yard for our flight from South Dakota. He put down the visor and kept his face turned from the sun and we headed into town, about half an hour away.

We were just about within sight of the town when his phone rang. He pulled it out of his jacket pocket and looked at the caller ID. And when he squinted a little more than he already was squinting, I thought it just from the sunlight.

You'd think I'd know better by now.

"Hey." He said into the phone. Then he pushed his thumb and forefinger into his eyes while he listened to outrage even I could hear, the tone if not the words.

"I'm with Bobby." He answered, when there was a break in the outrage. Which picked right back up again when he was done saying it. I woulda hated to hear Dean's ire if he _wasn't_ half done in with hydromorphone.

"We're driving." Sam hadn't moved his fingers from his eyes. "Town. I don't know. Somewhere."

He heaved a great sigh then.

"_Yes, I'm sure it's Bobby. Because he actually had his hat on this time."_

Well, the tirade from Dean's end of the phone quieted down from that and I couldn't hear it anymore.

"Supplies." Sam kept on. "Supplies, right?" He half turned to me but barely opened his eyes any more than a squint so I answered him out loud.

"Yep."

"Yeah, supplies. Well, 'cause he _asked._ If he - I don't know - needs help or whatever - I'm not gonna - I wasn't gonna - I will. All right? I'll lay down for a little while again when we get back. Yes, I can. No, I can't. Dean - I can't keep sleeping all the time. _No._ C'mon. Even Dad always said no alcohol or painkillers with a head injury. So - no. Dean - c'mon - _please_ - _my head hurts_."

And if the pleading in his little brother's voice didn't make Dean feel four kinds of shameful, I'd be surprised.

I gotta tell you, I was feeling kind of shameful myself.

"All right. _Good bye._" Sam hung up and took three tries at it before he got his phone back in his jacket pocket. Then he squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. The best thing for him would be peace and quiet, I knew, but I had to ask.

"It didn't occur to you that I asked you along just 'cause I wanted your company?"

"What?" He dropped his hand and squinted at me. "Yeah. I know. You know, I'm good. I can - you know - carry - whatever - Dean's just - he's just worried that I wandered off in a fog again. I'm good. I can help."

Really? That's the only reason Sam could come up with that I'd asked him along? To help me? To carry something for me? Really?

"_And I thought your brother was an idiot."_

"What_?_"

"I didn't ask you along because I needed muscle. I can carry groceries all by myself. I wanted you along because _I wanted you along._"

He didn't say anything in answer to that. He looked at me, eyes full open. He blinked. Then he blinked again. And then one more time.

"Oh."

I bet he had a lot of the same stunned expression on his face right after he got clobbered with the crowbar.

"You mean you only came because you thought I wanted help?" I asked him. "You wouldn't have come just to come?"

"I - no - I mean - I mean -"

He sighed a sigh that seemed to take all of the air out of him. He rubbed his eyes and then rubbed his face with his bandaged hand.

"No, I wouldn't have."

And dammit if that didn't hurt. We were already at town or I would've turned around and brought him back to the cabin. I thought about doing it anyway, supplies or no supplies, because if he didn't want to be with me, then he shouldn't have to be with me.

"Dammit, Sam. I thought we cleared all that up between us."

"All _what_?" He asked like he didn't know and like he was surprised and worried what it could be.

"All the hard feelings - all _my _hard feelings - of what happened when you were walking around without a soul."

Well, he pondered that. And it didn't seem a pleasant pondering. We were at the little convenience store then, though, so I didn't push him on an answer.

"I've got _Dean's_ list of necessities." I told him, before I got out of the car. I tried to sound casual and upbeat. "What's your pleasure?"

He looked at me like it was taking him a minute to parse out what I was saying and what it meant.

"No. Thanks. No. I'm - no. Thanks."

I didn't push that either because - Lord knew - half of Dean's list was stuff for _Sammy_ anyway.

"Okay, be right back."

It wasn't a big store and it didn't take long to round up what was needed and wanted, and in twenty minutes I was setting my plastic bags full of food and sundries into the trunk. Sam was still in the passenger seat, eyes closed, head leaning against the window.

I got in quiet and started her up and got us back on the road to what was currently home.

Only about two miles on, Sam started talking.

"I wouldn't have thought you meant it." He said. He lifted his head, and did a decent job of keeping open his eyes. "It's not that I wouldn't spend time with you, just to spend time. It's just - it just seems like _so long_ since anybody - _anybody_ _but Dean_ - has wanted to spend time with me. Just me. And just because. Not even counting how long I was in hell, it's just been a really long time since anybody wanted me to be around for any reason that wasn't apocalyptic or evil or just plain twisted. So, I wouldn't have come with because I wouldn't have thought you really meant it."

"If that ain't horseshit, I don't know what is." I told him when I could say anything at all, and my voice sounded rough.

And Sam looked at me and pondered on _that._

"Well, there's _actual_ horseshit." He said and I swear he sounded dead serious and he _looked_ dead serious, even when I gave him a glare. Either he _was _dead serious, or growing up with Dean had made him immune to ordinary admonishments.

I left off everything I could say to him and everything I wanted to say to him, because if he didn't believe it without being told, haranguing him on it wasn't going to convince him either.

"Well, I _meant_ it."

He nodded, "Okay," and that was all. He rested his head against the window again and closed his eyes and didn't open them, not even to check caller ID when his phone rang again.

Like he would've _had _to check who was calling.

"What, Dean? I don't know. Twenty minutes, I guess. Yes, I'm _resting._ No, Bobby didn't ask me to carry anything. Yes, I will lie down when we get back. No, I'm not seeing things that aren't really there. Yes, I am sure. Can I go back to resting, now?"

Then he hung up and put the phone away.

And then he sat up again.

And then he started talking again.

"So, Bobby - I just - you know - if you were ever - gonna - ask again - _if_ you were even ever gonna ask again - I - you know - _yeah."_

And then he looked out the passenger side window while I marveled at the gift I'd just been given - his broken heart and battered soul, wrapped tight in awkwardness and hope, handed over to either be protected or just booted right back to him, whichever I saw fit to do.

And I was damn well gonna _protect_ them.

"Just so you know…" I started, and waited until he turned to look at me. "I _am_ planning on asking again."

He nodded and smiled and went back to looking out the window.

We got back to the cabin to find one irate big brother waiting for us on the porch, his _'Daniel Boone-esque'_ crutch under one arm, and Sam's unread book in his hand. He scowled and glared and glowered and fumed, but Sam pretty much ignored him as he followed me to the trunk and took the one and only plastic bag that I was going to hand him. He carried the bag up the stairs and only gave Dean a passing look before he kept going inside.

Apparently, that look was enough.

I got to the top of the stairs and Dean turned to me in amazement.

"He looks _happy._" He said. "Bobby, you need to take him out driving more often."

I shrugged my agreement and led the way inside.

"I'm planning on it." I told him.

The End


End file.
